


I've Got Your Back

by SuccubusKayko



Series: On a Lark [7]
Category: FFXIV, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Male-Female Friendship, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Period Typical Attitudes, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuccubusKayko/pseuds/SuccubusKayko
Summary: Estinien and the Warrior of Light get sent on a mission to hunt a wyvern harrowing the Coerthan Highlands.OrEstinien realizes he's developing feelings for the WoL.(Fixed the formatting~! Hurray~!)





	I've Got Your Back

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting unfinished for a while in my WIPs and Christmas has got me wanting to post something kind of fluffy. (I'm not good at fluff, especially not this time of year.)
> 
> So here's a winter adjacent ficlet instead.
> 
> This might be a two parter if I ever get around to it. . .

I've Got Your Back

 

 

Like many nights in the Highlands, it was cold. Frigid, really, to the point that several layers of thick, leather hides; heavy, woolen furs; and their frankly pitiful excuse of a fire were little to keep them warm. The hallow they’d stowed away in at least kept out the wind, which had thankfully died down from a howling gale to a mournful cry over the few hours since night had fallen. 

“Esssstin-n-n-n-nien,” Shirina was a shivering wreck, her teeth chattering loudly as she blew on her gloved fingers and rubbed them together. She paced in frustration beside the stone circle and wrapped her arms around herself, shoving her hands beneath her pits in an attempt to keep them warm, “P-p-please, can we p-p-put another log on the f-f-fire?”

Estinien rolled his eyes up to look at her from his crouched position beside the meager fire and gave her a long suffering sigh. “Cease your mewling, girl,” he whispered, low enough that it was more a gritting of his teeth than actual words. He prodded at the quickly dying embers with the head of his spear, coaxing them to catch again on the twigs they’d gathered earlier - already black from continuous use. When a spark finally caught at the charred saplings, he jabbed the haft of his lance into the ground and used it to pull himself to his feet, his low rumble almost too loud to her sensitive ears, “It would do no good to have the beast discover us over something as trivial as comfort.”

“Oh, yessss, c-comfort. C-can’t-t h-have that-t-t!”

“You are more than welcome to go find the thing on your own, if you are so desperate for warmth,” he growled, pinning her with his filthiest glare and thumbing towards the cave mouth, “I am certain it will be all too happy to  _ feed its flame down your throat _ !”

Her ears flattened against her head and her tufted tail flicked in irritation, but she said nothing in response. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and kicked up a clump of dirt in his direction, before turning on her heel to clomp towards her pack and axe, which she’d rested against the rough hewn stone in the back. Her boots squelched loudly, however, and her feet stuck in as she stamped through the mud, ruining the whole effect.

Estinien snorted and watched after her, knowing that the silence would not last, but pleased with himself regardless.

“Sssstub-b-born asss,” he heard her hiss under her breath as she began rummaging through her things, seeming determined to make as much noise as possible despite his previous warnings. He was ready to leave her to it when she flung a cast-iron pot over her shoulder, the sound of heavy metal clashing against the stone and reverberating through the small space nearly deafening him.

“For Fury’s sake,” he stomped towards her, grabbed her shoulders, and spun her to face him, “Are you trying to bring the whole Twelve’s damned mountain down on us?!”

Her hands instinctively rose to fend him off as he near shouted in her face, a red glow rising in her irises a sure sign of her rage and frustration at the situation. She shoved at him hard and he nearly lost his grip on her.

“Y-you sssaid tha-a-at thissss place wa-asss too small to collapse,” her lips curled into a vicious snarl, spittle dripping down her fangs, transforming her into the visage of a raging coeurl.

He knew that reasoning with her would not be enough. So, he planted his feet, gave her a hard shake, and snarled right back, “Aye, but that does not stop an avalanche! We would be buried alive in seconds! The snows would melt before they found our bloody corpses!”

He felt as her fingers gripped, deathly strong, and her claws pricked against his skin at the edge of his cuirass, near his neck. He was just getting ready to toss her away and make a break for it, when he caught a strange glint in her eye that made him do a double take. 

“C-can that-t-t h-happen,” she spoke as though he had stolen her breath and her whole body trembled beneath his hands. Though from the cold or from rage, he was no longer certain, as he watched the rage fade from her eyes and a haze of terror take its place. She was clinging to him, he realized now, holding onto him as though her life depended on it.

And the Warrior of Light relying on him for  _ anything _ was a dreadful idea. Even he had a level-enough head to know that.

This could go very poorly.

 

===

 

He could lie to her. Tell her it was only a jest and, best case scenario, she’d only beat him bloody and use him as bait for the wyvern they were tracking. Worst case scenario, she’d use his corpse as kindling till the storm died down and head back to Ishgard alone and empty handed.

Aymeric would probably get a good laugh at that.

Of course, he could just tell her the truth and that might even go fine. Or, she could decide that the whole thing was much too dangerous and insist that they return to Ishgard immediately and hope the wyvern kept quiet till the weather was better. Or, she could get horrifically drunk on the whiskey he’d spied her packing and turn into a horrific puddle of hormones and tears.

She wouldn’t be good to anyone, then.

He was half tempted to head off to fight the thing alone.

He was more than capable. He knew the area better than she. He knew his way around a dragon, all the different types and where their scales were softest or parted just enough to get in a good jab with his spear. And most of all, he was used to the cold. He could navigate through a blizzard if he needed to. Fight in one, too.

He knew, though, that the suggestion would go over like a kick in the head. The whole reason Aymeric had sent the two of them together was to be sure that the thing died quickly, without casualties, and preferably without infecting his person with dragon blood. . . again.

It was a scenario they all feared, his ingesting the blood, especially after the ordeal with Nidhogg at the Steps of Faith. They would have two dragons on their hands, then, and he knew well the kind of destruction he could reap as one of the beasts.

If he did turn, he knew she would do what was necessary to keep Ishgard’s people safe. And she would know how to handle Aymeric in such a situation. She would know how to help him grieve. How to keep him going. She would make sure that he took care of himself.

Or she’d wrestle him to bed and shovel food down his throat, at the very least.

He could die peacefully knowing that if he should fall, she would take care of things, protect their lover with her life and more, if she needed to. He was certain of that.

And that gave him some small comfort.

He would never admit aloud that he needed her around about as much as Aymeric did. Maybe more so. The stubborn, infuriating woman had grown on him in recent months. Slowly wheedling her way passed his defenses despite himself. 

Where he was all cool cruelty, sharp jibes, and quick temper; she was molten passion, quick wit, and . . .

Well. She was just as quick to temper, but that hardly mattered.

She gave as good as she got, shouting until she was hoarse to be heard over his own outrage, never letting up until she’d proven her point. Where as Aymeric would just take it and fume silently, prefering to let him cool before he tried to reason with him again.

But she could be just as equally gentle and firm all at once.

Caring for him when he was exhausted and injured, despite his protests. Making sure that he had a hot meal waiting for him when he came home from his turn on the watch, and making sure that he ate it, too. Making sure that he bathed regularly and cleaned up his armor like he should. Tempering his fury with Aymeric over something inconsequential by taking his ire onto herself, often putting him back into his place when he’d overstepped some invisible boundary that was unknown to him, but seemed obvious to she and Aymeric. Slowly teaching him some semblance of patience with Aymeric’s new quirks, brought on by all he’d been through before and during his absence, as well as with his own self-loathing and self-destructive tendencies.

Yes, he needed her at least as much as Aymeric, if only to keep him from destroying what little good (Aymeric) he had left in the world with his own self-assured idiocy and self-destructive tendencies.

And to think that the infuriating ( _ confident _ ), stubborn ( _ strong _ ), witch of a woman was now clinging to him as though her life depended on it. This woman that slayed primals and brought down corrupt dictatorships as assuredly as she navigated the, often tumultuous, waters of their tentatively shared relationship with Aymeric; as though she could survive anything and come out the other side with a grin on her face and a twinkle of mischief in her eye.

Now,  **that** was. . . 

_ Something _ .

 

===

 

And, now, she was staring up at him with terror bleaching the color from her skin and her eyes too wide, her fingers trapped in a white-knuckled grip at the edge of his breastplate, waiting for him to throw her a life line. To assure her that everything would be alright and that they would make it through the night safely.

How he wished in that moment that he could bring himself to just ply her with drink and let her cry herself into a fitful sleep. . .

He let his hands release their grip from her shoulders, smooth down her arms and around her back, tugging her close to his chest in a hold that was maybe a bit too tight. He found himself lowering his cheek to the top of her head, feeling her ears bat against his face as they flattened against her head. Found himself whispering into her hair, “I will make certain that no harm comes to you this night.” Found himself kissing the top of her head as he murmured, “I have you. . . I will always keep you safe. . .”

And if he found himself believing his own words as she sniffled and shivered in his arms, her face pressed against his neck as the tension slowly faded from her shoulders . . .

Well. . .  _ That _ was  **something** .

 


End file.
